The Bloodsail Initiative
by BlackRazor
Summary: When Lakeshire's magistrate is abducted by orcs, Stormwind dispatches an elite team to rescue him, but what they discover runs deeper than a simple kidnapping.
1. Chapter 1

Cassandra was bored. Although the journey from Booty Bay to Redridge Mountains wasn't a long one, it began to tax her patience. The red haired assassin wasn't born for such monotony; she was born to be unbridled – unleashed. However, in this moment, she needed to be a diplomat; a position she loathed. Cassandra discovered long ago that cold, unrelenting steel is a reliable diplomatic solution.

Born to a whore of a mother who sold herself to every willing sailor anchoring at Menethil Harbor, Cassandra was left to her own devices at a very young age. Her father was rumored to be a drunken noble from Stormwind who staked no claim to a daughter he believed, or rather hoped, was not of his bloodline. Whether her parents still lived she did not care. A couple of seasons ago there were reports of a naked and mutilated woman found bound to a bed at the Menethil Harbor Inn; a presumable fitting end to such a wonderful mother. Her alleged father still spends his days in seedy taverns, spreading his seed all over Azeroth. Cassandra relishes the day when her journeys cross paths with dear old dad, but sadly today is not that day.

Stranglethorn jungle did little to alleviate the boredom. She contemplated abandoning the beaten path to pay Nesingwary a visit and the thought of plunging a dagger into that dwarven bastard's skull was tempting. What kind of man hunts animals when the real prey is the various races in Azeroth? Gut a man from gullet to stern and you will never stalk another four legged beast again, but Cassandra had mission to complete and didn't have the time for any fun.

Fleet Master Firallon dispatched her to personally oversee the interrogation of Lakeshire Magistrate Solomon. He had vital information crucial to the success of the Bloodsail plan and thanks to Gath'Ilzogg's ineptitude, the Alliance is now aware of the Magistrate's kidnapping. Firallon partially blamed himself. Orcs aren't celebrated for their subtlety and the Fleet Master should have tasked Cassandra with such a delicate mission.

All water under the bridge in Cassandra's mind. If travelling this distance accomplished anything, it provided an opportunity for the assassin to collect her thoughts. Maybe, just maybe, she will have enough time to extract the information from the Magistrate, if not; at least she will be able to kill someone besides that fool, Gath'Ilzogg.

Killing came natural to Cassandra; as natural as drawing breath into her lungs, although she didn't know it until she was twelve and a local boy in Menethil Harbor tried miserably to rape her. She can still feel the warm blood splashing on her face from the dagger she plunged into the hapless boy's eye. It awoke something inside Cassandra; a dark calling that invigorated every fiber of her being. She stopped being a pathetic little girl lost in the world that had forsaken her. That day, the blood was the anvil, the boy's bone chilling screams the hammer, and together they forged her true self; a cold blooded killer.

After the incident, Cassandra became distant. Citizens were dehumanized; meat bags, to be split open and left for the crows. Her indifference grew to the point where the people of Menethil Harbor avoided and shunned Cassandra; she was feared. The local bakers stopped giving her their scraps and she learned to steal to survive. The local guard continuously harassed her on a daily basis and Cassandra began planning her revenge.

One rainy day, she prowled outside Deepwater Tavern waiting for Captain Stoutfist to exit. Stoutfist never harassed her, but he was the military leader in Menethil Harbor and Cassandra figured murdering the dwarven commander was a good place to start on her path to vengeance. In retrospect, she now understands that was the day she was saved. Stoutfist is a great warrior and he would have dispatched her, most likely, with one swift sword stroke. Cassandra gripped her dagger so tight, her knuckles were pearly white, but her breathing remained surprisingly calm. Taking the first step towards one's doom, they say, is the hardest part, but Cassandra didn't hesitate.

"Looks like you're planning somethin' foolish, lass."

Cassandra felt a rough hand grab her shoulder. She spun around, dagger ready to strike. A man, a pirate to be exact, stood glaring at her. His penetrating stare held firm as if searching for something in Cassandra's emerald eyes. The pirate stroked his black beard and his beady brown eyes softened; he had found a unique treasure in the rarest of places. Focused rage inside a tiny red headed child; a bounty worth more than a chest full of gold.

"Lass, why waste your time on that bearded midget? Come with me and I promise you I will serve the world to you on a golden platter."

"Who are you?" Cassandra inquired, slowly lowering her blade. The man's red coat was trimmed in gold and slightly shuttered as he chuckled.

"I am Fleet Master Firallon of the Bloodsail," he replied removing his hat and offering a subtle bow.

"What's the catch?" Cassandra eyed Firallon suspiciously. She raised her dagger warningly. "I will not be some old man's bed wench!"

"Old man?" Firallon bellowed, half laughing. "Rest easy girl, I have a boat full of women who raise my sail and let me drop anchor. No, what I need is a weapon. And with the proper training, I can shape you into a powerful weapon. You can come and go as you please. All I ask in return is your complete loyalty to me and only me."

Cassandra's train of thought was in overdrive. She knew the answer immediately after hearing Firallon's offer, but she didn't want to appear too eager. She was fighting the urge to jump up and say, "Yes, get me the hell out of this shithole!" Instead, she nonchalantly sheathed the dagger in her boot.

"Alright," she answered calmly, sounding almost half-hearted. "But tell your crew, I am off limits. I will be nobody's whore. And when the time comes, I will lay with who I want when I want and that includes your boat full of women."

Firallon's grin stretched across his entire face.

"Oh lass, the places we will see and the people we will slaughter."

That was eight years ago and now she stood a stone's throw from a Stormwind soldier patrolling the Three Corners, cloaked to the naked eye. Cassandra carefully inspected the man. How he carried himself. How he moved in his armor and choice of weapon. The guard was clad in full plate mail armor and carried a long sword and shield, a favorite among the Stormwind Guard. She doubted the Alliance would give a lowly guard a suit of magical dwarven armor, but still it would definitely require a surgical strike; however she was confident her finely crafted blades would penetrate the cuirass, even if the guard wore a hauberk underneath. She nearly matched him in height and he wasn't a burly man, average by human standards and his gait was lackluster. Cassandra chuckled inside, she just found someone as bored as her.

After a few moments, the guard stopped and hunkered down next to the large, signature bole of the Three Corners. He pulled off his helm revealing a young man no more than a couple seasons older than her. The soldier appeared to drift away to a different place, trying desperately to escape the daily mundane routine. Though this boy was clearly bored, there was a light inside him, content with the life he was born into; he was happy. The long sword and shield were resting haphazardly outside of arm's reach. This boy might be the happiest person on Azeroth, but he also is a naïve fool. He nestled down and leaned a shoulder against the giant stump, his back proudly displayed before Cassandra. She grinned.

"Time to have some fun."

Private Jace Parker was bored. After graduating the Military Academy, he was stationed as the lone sentry of the Three Corners. A dismal posting doing nothing more than patrolling the area linking Redridge Mountains, Elwynn Forest, and Duskwood. Parker's assigned duty is not where he expected to find himself as a small boy playing with wooden swords in his home in Elwynn Forest.

Being the son of a rancher, Parker's father hoped he would follow in his footsteps, but Jace had more grandiose dreams. In between his chores, he would secretly sneak off to Goldshire and learn swordplay from anyone willing to teach their technique. It was at the blacksmith Jace met Brother Wilhelm, a paladin, and Parker's mentor.

For ten seasons Parker trained with Brother Wilhelm and with each passing year, Jace's potential grew. He soon became known simply as, "the kid". His parents learned of the training after a year, and though his father was not overjoyed with the notion, Brother Wilhelm informed Jace's parents he could turn out to be a fine soldier with a promising future.

After twenty two long years, he was finally summoned to Stormwind for an audience with Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker – High Crusader of the Paladin Corps. His dreams had been answered. Parker's parents were proud of their son, as were the neighboring residents who watched a young boy grow up into a man. However, Jace's exultation soon evaporated after learning he would be stationed as a sentry at the Three Corners. Parker knew his talents and skills would soon be recognized and he would be saved from such a dreary assignment.

"Everyone has to start somewhere," he told himself.

Jace nestled his sword and shield against the large stump dominating the center of the Three Corners' area. Parker's short cropped blond hair twirled into a mess as he removed the blue plumed gladiator helm. Jace leaned his left shoulder against the stump, relaxing his six foot frame in the process. Parker's dark brown eyes were tired and dry from the hot wind blowing in from Redridge. No matter how much Parker hated this patrol, one good thing, nay – great thing had happened to him - Darcy.

Darcy is a waitress at the Lakeshore Inn in Redridge Mountains and the niece of Lakeshire's magistrate – Solomon Gray. Parker closed his eyes, visualizing Darcy's long, light brown hair she wore in a ponytail. Her soft, blue eyes were bisected by a small, narrow nose. Her skin was silky smooth, hair smelled of jasmine and petite body made Jace melt when he held her. Darcy was an artisan cook too. Her succulent baked chicken was celebrated in Lakeshire and everyday Darcy would dispatch a courier to bring Jace lunch, which made patrolling the Three Corners a little more bearable.

Parker elected not to wait for a transfer and promotion to begin his future with Darcy. Jace knew a draenei jewel crafter who created for him a fine wedding ring. Two perfectly cut aquamarines (to match Darcy's eyes) surrounded by small diamonds found deep in the caves of Hellfire Peninsula and set in a band of pure gold. That was six months ago and even now Parker basked in the afterglow of that day. Darcy was pregnant with their first child and life couldn't be more fulfilling. He smiled.

Parker opened his eyes wide if as just awakening from a long dream, but he knew he didn't fall asleep on duty, nope, not "the kid". Jace went to run a hand through his hair again, but his arm felt heavy, as did his shoulders like they used to after helping his father carry firewood back to the house. Parker's vision dimmed as he heard someone whisper in his ear.

"Silly boy, you should _never_ let your guard down… _ever_."

Parker attempted in vain to call for the magic taught to him by the great paladins of Stormwind, but the poison had already thickened his veins and any incantations stood fast in his throat; darkness was closing in. This assassin was good, he didn't hear anything, see anything; Parker didn't even feel the blades puncture his kidneys. Jace turned to the assassin and beheld a young red-haired, human female grinning evilly and her laughter grew as blackness slowly befell him.

The assassin dropped Parker's body on the ground and wiped off her blood stained daggers on his Stormwind tabard.

"No, not now," was the last thought of Jace "The Kid" Parker as the vision of his shield with the Mark of the Lion faded to black. The Three Corners remained serene and the carrion birds and insects began to muster.

Cassandra sheathed the daggers and stepped over the Stormwind guard. Her red hair was a tongue of flame licking the mid-afternoon air as she summoned her mystical steed. The ebony gelding whinnied as Cassandra climbed into the saddle, her black cloak partially draping the hind quarter. The horse kicked up reddish brown dirt as she spurred the horse to her true destination: Stonewatch Keep.

Her emerald green eyes prowled the low lying hills creeping below the giant form of Stonewatch Keep. Billows of smoke from campfires were charcoal pillars sprouting from the Bloodsail camp. Her tiny nostrils detected the aroma of salted boar being slowly cooked over several spits. Cassandra gripped the reins as she kicked her heels. The black gelding darted to the leader's tent and several buccaneers rose to greet Fleet Master Firallon's favorite assassin.

As she dismounted, her dark red tunic shifted and Cassandra took a moment to shift it back. A young magician quickly turned away as Cassandra caught his watchful eye. She always has had an effect on men as far back as she could remember. Her beauty easily matched the elves and by human standards, Cassandra is incredibly stunning. In her youth it bothered her to be the object of men's desires, but as Cassandra matured, she discovered beauty can be a devastating weapon. She gave the young mage a playful smile as she walked passed.

Cassandra entered the central tent and quickly recognized the figure sitting behind a huge oak desk. His black beard was peppered with gray denoting a human male of middle age; his battle hardened eyes fixated on the fiery haired assassin, temptress, buccaneer, or whatever part she was playing today as Cassandra glided more into view. Her red tunic embraced perfectly round breasts and a silver silk sash coiled around a thin waist. Black leather pants fell from shapely hips tightly hugging long, muscular legs disappearing into knee high red leather boots. The black bearded man's plate armor chimed his uneasiness at Cassandra's appearance. The besagues on his armor fluttered when she approached within an arm's length. Cassandra was a Bloodsail assassin, but there was no doubt she was a woman too.

"Colonel Kurzen," spoke Cassandra, her words silky smooth as they fled thin, narrow lips.

Kurzen stood up, adjusting his wide belt in the process. The three emeralds in the belt's center winked at Cassandra as a quick, gust of wind blew open the tent flap and light stole a glance at the two figures. She was tall for a human female standing a dagger hilt under six feet, her creamy white skin now lightly bronzed by Azeroth's sun.

Kurzen's long sword and dagger anchored the two sides of a vellum map with distinctive marks clustered around one area. Cassandra offered the map a quick glance before narrowing her eyes back to Kurzen.

"How are the preparations coming along, Colonel?" she asked. Few people, let alone other humans, garnered Cassandra's respect and Kurzen was one who had earned it. Kurzen's brown eyes deepened as he ran a hand through long, thick black hair. The strands whipping back to frame his hawkish face.

"Firallon's plan will work, but we need a little more information," Kurzen replied.

Cassandra's nostrils subtlety flared from the use of Firallon's name without the label of respect- Fleet Master, but Kurzen and Firallon are old friends, so Cassandra's ire fled as quickly as it arrived.

The map slightly curled up as Cassandra relieved Kurzen's dagger from its nest. The blade hissed as it escaped the scabbard and Cassandra's emerald pools traced the finely crafted dagger. Too elegant to be forged by trolls or orcs and Cassandra could tell by the metal folding it had to be either dwarven or elven steel, perhaps human. The thought produced a frown.

"Rest assured, Colonel, we will have the information in time."

"And if the magistrate doesn't divulge the information?" Kurzen countered.

Cassandra's gaze abandoned the blade and returned to the Colonel.

"Everyone talks," she said, sliding the blade back into the scabbard and placing it back on the map. "Just make sure everyone is still on board. Especially the Dark Iron dwarves, we will need their tenacity in the upcoming battle."

"Aye," agreed Kurzen with a nod. "Can I offer you some food or drink before you head to Stonewatch?"

"Thank you, no," Cassandra answered. "Time is short, but I will gladly raise a pint after our victory, Colonel."

"Very well then, Cassandra, until we next meet," Kurzen said offering a slight bow.

Cassandra returned the gesture with a nod and slipped on her black leather gloves. Exiting the tent, she walked through a sea of Bloodsails. Some were sharpening weapons, some were lost in ale, and some were lazily doing chores, but all eyes followed the red-haired assassin. None of them were worth her time.

Heading to the rope bridge connecting to the southern end of Stonewatch Keep, Cassandra thoughts centered on the Fleet Master's brilliant plan and she could not help but crack a wry smile. Since the distance to the Keep was short, she decided to walk instead of ride. The uphill path had a couple of shoddy fence lines. The wood was old and warped with some sections falling apart, the beams being slowly absorbed by reddish brown dirt. A bow shot from Kurzen's camp, Cassandra came upon two Blackrock orcs guarding the bridge, the larger of the two moving to intercept.

"Ootak cavene, bitak?!" the orc bellowed.

Fluent in several languages, Cassandra found orcish to be the least impressive. It was not laden in authority as elvish, intimidating as undead, or noble as the tauren. Even troll and human contained a hint of strength, but orcish was just plain and simply weak. However deficient their language may be, orcs compensated in appearance.

Grayish green skin stretched over thick torsos and their legs were small tree trunks. An orc's size was easily the width of two lean night elves and, perhaps, twice as deadly. Most shaved their heads and some wore long ponytails; a traditional homage to ancient orc warriors and their celebrated battle rage was second only to the dwarves. But perhaps the most prolific characteristic is the two fangs jetting up from their lower mandible. They are useless for eating and somewhat capable of rending flesh, but the true purpose is creating fear. Cassandra stood amused.

She had an encounter with an orc a few months past in Shattrath City. The arrogant oaf presumed he could overpower Cassandra and squirt a hybrid abomination into her belly. Needless to say, most orcs are all brawn and no brains and before departing the city, she stuffed his family jewels in his mouth and used his dagger to shish kabob them to his tongue.

"I have business with Gath'Ilzogg," snapped Cassandra, answering in human, knowing full well the orc understood being so close to Lakeshire. "And if you refer to me as a 'bitak' again, I will strangle you with your own intestines."

The orc's deep chuckle dissipated in the wind as he moved aside, signaling the lithe rogue to continue on her journey. Cassandra muttered something under her breath as she passed, disappointed she could not satisfy the desire to gut this wretched, orc scum.

Cassandra's footfalls on the wooden boards reverberated through the canyon, drawing little attention from the murloc village below. The calm river beneath the bridge was a bluish green serpent snaking its way from Stonewatch Falls to Lake Everstill. Dozens more Blackrocks patrolled the southern end and the entrance to the Keep, but none of them paid attention to Cassandra.

Stonewatch Keep's once white stone was slowly fading to multi hues of browns, reds, and yellows. The wooden steps leading to the entrance of Stonewatch Keep groaned their age as Cassandra climbed them. The half raised portcullis was unmoving in the gaping maw of the huge Stonewatch beast. The foyer was strewn with debris and bone and the left passage had completely collapsed. A lone torch dimly lit the right passage as Cassandra evaded broken barrels and furniture.

Blackrock scouts and warlocks wandered the main floor, some were patrolling, but most were carousing with one another. Inside the main floor's center room was a flight of stairs leading up to the Gath'Ilzogg's main hall. Single torches guided Cassandra and she did her best not stumble over the debris which seemed to be prevalent in Stonewatch Keep.

"Orcs," Cassandra whispered shaking her head.

Scaling the stairway to a corridor leading to an area with a ramp going left and stairs to the right leading up to the parapet, Cassandra chose the former. At the top, the main hall was illuminated with a large torch aligning all four walls. Red tattered banners hung at the back of the debris cluttered rectangular room where Gath'Ilzogg, his black dragon whelp Singe, a troll, and what appeared to be an undead skeleton clad in plate armor were standing around a balding human male chained to a wooden chair.

Gath'Ilzogg shifted his gaze from the old man as Cassandra entered the room. His orc lust began to rise, but he knew better than to pursue this female. His red eyes followed the bloodsail buccaneer as she approached. Singe flared his nostrils in warning, but Cassandra's attention focused on the orc leader.

"Dinot," spoke Gath'Ilzogg in orcish.

"Greetings, Gath'Ilzogg," responded Cassandra, hiding her disgust for the orc leader as she came into the view of Magistrate Solomon.

Magistrate Solomon squinted through his right eye, his monocle lost during the abduction.

"So it appears the Bloodsail are in league with orc filth these days. Not surprising," Solomon spoke, his tone sharp.

"Silence," hissed the armored undead form in a ghastly voice, as one skeletal finger tapped the hilt of its long sword, his vacant, dead eyes probing the magistrate.

"It seems you have offended my friend Mor'Ladim, Magistrate. Not a wise thing to do in your position," Cassandra said removing her gloves and tucking them in her sash. "Do you have anything to say to our troll ally while you're at it?" she added glancing at High Priestess Arlokk.

"Hmmph," Magistrate Solomon grunted. "Scum seems to gather in stagnant water," he added.

Throwing her head back Cassandra's red hair splashed off her shoulders as she laughed. She walked around Solomon letting her fingers trace his shoulders. What gray hair he possessed was unkempt from being whisked away in the dead of night and his white shirt was torn at the collar. Cassandra stopped when she stood in front of Solomon, her emerald eyes meeting his light blues.

"Enough of the idle chatter, I'm pressed for time" she said. "Tell me Magistrate, what is the contingency plan for an assault on Stormwind?"

The Magistrate returned the laughter.

"Even if I knew I wouldn't tell you. Besides, knowing the plan wouldn't affect the outcome. A full out assault on Stormwind is foolish, not to mention suicidal."

Cassandra sighed, resisting the urge to pluck one of his eyes out.

"We know you have that information, Magistrate. After all, General Marcus Jonathan – the High Commander of Stormwind Defenses – is your close friend. Surely you have spoken on the matter. The Alliance is a lot of things, being unprepared isn't one of them," Cassandra said placing a foot on the magistrate's chair and resting an elbow on a bent knee.

"I told you. I don't have that type of information; I'm just the hamlet magistrate. I have nothing more to say," he vehemently replied.

Cassandra grinned and tapped Solomon on the nose.

"Haven't you heard, Magistrate?" Cassandra leaned in, pressing the corner of her lips on the magistrate's ear. "Everyone talks."


	2. The Valkyrie

Grabbing the metal pot on the stove, Kaiya Tam began pouring the hot, dark brown liquid into a ceramic cup. The dranei didn't have anything resembling coffee on Argus and she cursed herself for getting addicted to the human concoction that is now a morning ritual. The nutty aroma from coffee beans harvested on the outskirts of Elwynn Forest exhilarated the senses and her pupil-less silver eyes flickered to life and her tail swayed with a little more exuberance.

"Well isn't this a fine how-do-you-do," she said aloud after reading the Arch Bishop's message, cursing herself yet again. "I've been among the humans for too long. I'm starting to speak like them." Kaiya finished off the cup of coffee and scampered into the bedroom, pondering if she could afford to imbibe another cup before departing for Goldshire.

She shed her robe in favor of a silver chainmail shirt and leggings. The armor was light as leather, yet strong as plate mail; a true testament to dwarven blacksmithing. She was in a hurry and quickly decided on the war hammer and shield instead of two double edged hand axes. Her ocean blue hand swept gently over the silver shield, the Exodar crest partially obscuring Kaiya's reflection. '…may this shield protect you from the darkest of times,' the words of the holy paladin who gave her the shield, trailed off in her mind. The paladin, her father, is a high ranking officer in the Alliance along with her mother; a high priestess of Exodar. Both are devout soldiers adept in the healing arts and those who know them, admit they will not meet anyone as noble in all of Azeroth.

Before she became a shaman and long before she joined the Alliance, Kaiya knew she wanted to be a soldier. She longed to stand shoulder to shoulder with her allies in battle, defending the innocent, and valiantly attempting to protect all that is good in the world. Naïve thinking for sure as most soldiers will attest. There is nothing glorious about war; watching friends die in battle is a harsh slap of reality across the face, but the dranei couldn't help what she felt in her heart. Kaiya knew she wanted to spend her life helping people in whatever capacity.

"I want to be a great warrior," she remembers telling her parents.

"My sweet child," replied her mother. "So you want to be great?" The high priestess' gentle aura bathed Kaiya in warm sunshine and a hand caressed her daughter's cheek.

"Yes."

Her mother softly smiled. "If you want to be great, you must first learn how to heal. It's far easier to learn how to destroy."

Kaiya never understood what her mother was trying to tell her all those years ago, but as time passed and she became more battle seasoned, she finally understood. Kaiya witnessed far too many warriors taking more pleasure in destroying the world, than saving it and she wondered how these people would survive in times of peace. But then again, the shaman questioned whether Azeroth will ever taste true peace. If it's not The Horde, it's the Burning Legion, if it's not the Burning Legion; it's the freshly awoken Lich King. Hopefully, one day peace will happen; unfortunately, today she needs to assemble her team – the Valkyrie, and set out once again to battle injustice.

"Dakota, hurry up! We need to go!" Kaiya yelled up the staircase.

The smell of coffee and the image of Kaiya drinking an entire pot in less than five minutes weren't nearly enough to break Dakota's meditation. The paladin's morning vigil held fast as she knelt before a shrine dedicated solely to the Knights of the Silver Hand. Although Dakota and her parents, also Alliance paladins, technically belonged to the Argent Crusade, Dakota's father zealously followed the original, ancient order.

Dakota rested mailed hands on the long sword she named Sun Strike with her forehead touching the hilt. The prayer remained the same as every day; to grant the strength to protect those in her charge and if she is to fall in battle, let her die an honorable death. Though Kaiya leads the Valkyrie, Dakota is responsible for the team's safety and protection; a duty she takes very serious.

The daughter of two holy paladins, it was odd Dakota was born with a warrior's soul. She gravitated instantly to the protective branch of the Paladin Order and, like all paladins, has become a deadly force against the undead and demon armies. Strangely, although she is a great warrior, Dakota does not crave battle, but rather has been thrust into it. Unlike Kaiya, who clings to the tiny hope Azeroth will find true peace, the paladin is a firm believer in The Cosmic Balance. Where there is an up, there is a down; where there is a right, there is a left; and where there is good, there is evil. So wars are inevitable, battle is commonplace, and she must choose a side.

Dakota's meditation deepened. She left her body and floated up through the roof and hovered momentarily over Stormwind. Then, as if getting a direction, she flew towards Duskwood. The first time this occurred during meditation a few years ago, it startled Dakota. She desperately attempted to break the meditation, but the trance was too powerful and finally Dakota succumbed to its will. She discovered that day a rare gift, bestowed to a handful of paladins throughout the ages; the ability to sense the undead. The last paladin rumored to possess this skill was Uther the Lightbringer.

Dakota floated passed Duskwood, destined for Redridge Mountains. As she drew closer, the outline of Stonewatch Keep sketched the horizon and the stench of death and decay thickened the air. The extremely pungent smell conjured bile in her throat and nothing Dakota tried could wash the taste away. Kaiya's voice broke Dakota's trance and she blinked her eyes rapidly to refocus on the present surroundings. Grabbing her shield and tucking Sun Strike in its scabbard, she quickly moved down the stairs. Dakota's golden plate armor trumpeted her arrival and Kaiya turned to greet her oldest and dearest friend as the holy knight spoke.

"Kai, there is undead in Redridge."

The two friends exchanged concerned looks and departed their two-story house and made their way to Stormwind's main gate to meet up with the others.

The cap with the magnifying lens amplified Vosh's purple eyes to the size of a grapefruits as the gnome hovered over the workbench, tediously working on a small contraption. The sight was comical as the lens merged both eyes into one gigantic eyeball that nearly dominated her entire face, so was the sacrifice an engineer had to make for their trade.

"This gear goes here, the sprocket goes here; connect the black wire here…no wait the read wire…no it's the black," she argued with herself.

The bell mechanism chimed to life; alerting Vosh she had a visitor. She scurried to the door desperate to return to her work as quickly as possible. The gnome opened the small round door and was practically face to face with a young boy. The Arch Bishop's errand boy jumped back, startled at the huge, cyclopean eye staring back at him. The boy stretched his arm as far as it could extend and handed Vosh a sealed envelope.

"Thank you," she said in the characteristically high pitch female gnome voice. Vosh darted back to the workbench, tossing the unopened envelope on a table.

"Now where was I…oh yes; the blue wire goes here; no it's the black…or was it the red." Finally satisfied with the wiring, she carefully assembled the rest of the proximity mine and placed it in a bag with other mines and gnomish contraptions. Removing the magnifying cap, her pink pigtails briefly flailed before settling into their natural position. Vosh snatched the envelope and with a quick flick of her dagger sliced it open. Her eyes traced every word in the message and the page was still fluttering down on the table when Vosh sprinted into the next room.

The room was a vastly different than the previous one. An assortment of weapons lined all four walls, blades of different sizes and shapes, but all were quite deadly in Vosh's hands. The gnome practiced engineering as a hobby, a family trade passed down through the generations and Vosh was a grandmaster; although if you were to witness her at work one would question otherwise. Vosh's true calling is her skill with the blade.

Her training has spanned several decades with various blade masters throughout Azeroth. When Vosh learned everything from one master she would seek out another, thus the gnome rogue is proficient in a wide variety of blades. However, unbeknownst to everyone including her family and fellow Valkyrie, Vosh's travels fortuitously landed her at the doorstep, or actually the hidden cave entrance, of an ancient master knowledgeable in a long forgotten art – Blade Dancing.

At first, Vosh couldn't believe her eyes. The grandmaster was a human who claimed to be over a thousand years old, but didn't look a day over sixty. The man was spry and lithe for his age and his blade work unmatched. Initially he refused to train Vosh, until she displayed her engineering skills and constructed a water filtration system in the cave.

"I will train you, but with two conditions," demanded the wizened man. Vosh remained silent, but her eyes were quietly asking for the answer. "You can never, under in circumstance, tell anyone of me or of this hidden lair."

"Why?" the gnome inquired, this time in her child like voice.

"Because the people of this world are masters of self destruction," he answered in a tone as if it was common knowledge.

The training proved more difficult and grueling than Vosh was accustomed to and she opened her own skin on more than one occasion, but learning this style was both exciting and extremely valuable. Every stroke had a purpose and there was never a wasted motion; the art form was a chess match played with blades. Each training session was long and precise; if Vosh missed just one move, she had to restart from the beginning. Vosh's focus and discipline were extraordinary, but this new style increased those skills tenfold. Her blade speed enhanced beyond the ridiculous to where she was but a blur to the normal eye. The Edge (Vosh's nickname for the sword master) was surprisingly impressed by the gnome's natural skill, but never let Vosh know. Confidence is a great trait; over confidence is Death's ally. At the conclusion of the training, she thanked the grandmaster and honored the contract; vowing never to reveal his secrets.

Vosh repeatedly tapped an index finger to her lips in indecision. Finally, she grabbed two short swords (daggers to the tall folk) and her favorite weapon a double bladed glaive which she modified with a spring mechanism so she could retract and extract the blades with a simple press of a button. When retracted, the glaive appeared to be nothing more than a simple staff. Vosh slipped into her ebony leather armor, grabbed her backpack full of goodies, and sped out the door.

A knock on the door thundered like a cannon shot throughout Jordan's quiet, early morning hovel. The young mage slowly rolled out of bed attempting to shake the cobwebs from a deep sleep. The knocking became more persistent.

"Yep, heard you the first time," she grumbled. "I am so not a morning person, she muttered cracking the door open to reveal the starry eyed face of a young man.

"Milady," the young man bowed, his livery signifying a courier of Arch Bishop Benedictus. "An urgent message from His Holiness."

Jordan retrieved the sealed envelope from the courier and dismissed him with a thankful smile, brushing raven strands of hair behind her ear. Jordan's delicate, long fingers broke the Church seal and her almond shaped eyes scanned the document while walking into the bedroom. Her tall, lean frame gracelessly crossed the room and she nearly stumbled over her slippers. Jordan's stomach began to twist in knots.

"Another mission." The wizard had been on dozens of missions, most with the Valkyrie, but she still can't shake the initial feeling she gets when receiving a new mission. It's not a fear of the task at hand, but rather the fear of failing her duty; her friends.

Growing up in Stormwind, Jordan never foresaw becoming a soldier, let alone a wizard. She was way too clumsy for fancy footwork and the required swordplay and in school she had a difficult time concentrating. Now she has memorized every incantation in the thick spell book resting on the nightstand and was one of a handful of wizard initiates selected to study under Jaina Proudmoore. But that enormous opportunity wasn't the catalyst which altered Jordan's destiny.

The tragedy of losing both her parents when she was ten years old was extremely hard-hitting. It was difficult watching her parents slowly succumb to the plague the undead necromancer cast upon them while travelling through the Hinterlands. Jordan was fortunate to be playing in an adjacent field during the brutal attack, but they were in a remote region without a healer. By the time Jordan gathered herself and ran non-stop to Southshore to summon help, it was far too late to save her parents. She failed. Jordan didn't know, at the time, if she could forgive herself; a burden no child should have to carry. After that day, Jordan believed if anyone in her family possessed magic during that attack; the outcome would have been different. She buried herself in the Stormwind Library, reading anything pertaining to the arcane and is now one of the Alliance's elite young wizards.

Her parents were good people. They weren't nobles, they weren't rich land barons. They were tailors plying their craft in a shop along Stormwind's waterways. Jordan fondly remembers sitting on the bridge by the shop while her mother sewed beautiful robes and dresses. Her mother's hands were deft and precise; every stitch sown with the utmost care, a true passion for her trade. She would sing elvish songs to Jordan while she sewed. A favorite of Jordan's was a song about two night elves madly in love, but one tragically dies and is reborn as a white dove. The surviving night elf retreats to the seclusion of the forests where he eternally aches for the touch of his lost love. Elune – the night elf Moon Goddess, heartbroken after witnessing this unconditional love, transforms the night elf into a white dove. Some say if you are fortunate enough to stumble upon two white doves frolicking in the forests all over Azeroth, you will be blessed with everlasting love.

Jordan climbed out of the shower and swiped a hand across the steamed mirror. Her raven hair curtained catlike features which soured as she moved closer to the mirror.

"Shit, is that a wrinkle?" she laughed as she remembered another song her mother would sing about the vanity of man who thought this particular song was about him. It's easier to laugh these days. Her father always told Jordan not to take life too serious.

"Darlin", he would say. "We humans don't have the longevity of the other races on Azeroth; our time on this place is finite. We may live to be a hundred; a heartbeat to the elves and dwarves, or we may live to be twenty, so enjoy the time; cherish the moments. Make sure you have a little fun every day, and for the love of everything holy, smile."

So when a new mission arrives, Jordan tries her best to adhere to the fatherly advice. She finished drying her hair and slipped on her purple robe trimmed in gold with two white doves embroidered on the right sleeve. She donned a platinum circlet festooned with one blue diamond, centering the precious gem on her forehead. There was another knock on the door.

Jordan slipped into her shoes and scurried to open the door. At first glance she didn't see anyone, and then dropping her gaze down, her chocolate brown eyes beheld a female gnome with pink pigtails pointing a finger at the time measuring device strapped to her wrist.

"Hey half-pint, let me grab my staff and then we can leave to meet the others."


	3. Rooster In The Hen-House

Kaiya and Dakota waited for the others in the Valley of Heroes at Stormwind's Main Gate. The gigantic, stoic statues of Khadgar, Alleria Windrunner, Danath Trollbane, Kurdan Wildhammer, and General Turalyon were titans among the many travelers entering the Main Gate from lands near and far, some visiting the magnificent city for the first time.

"I wonder what it was like for them, being the first through the Dark Portal and all." Kaiya pondered fixing her gaze on Danath Trollbane.

"It had to take a toll," replied Dakota, her oval face etched with compassion and deep, blue eyes riveted on Turalyon. "But they did their duty, like all those who choose to serve. I only hope, because of the sacrifices made, they find what very few of us do…a small measure of peace."

"May you live in interesting times," whispered Kaiya. Dakota's face was branded with intrigue, begging for an explanation. "The dwarves recently unearthed ancient runes on the southeastern coast of Kalimdor and uncovered several artifacts," she continued. "One artifact, a tablet, written in a long forgotten language translated a curse – it simply declared - _may you live in interesting times._ "

"I suppose it could be a curse, depending on one's definition of _interesting,"_ offered Dakota, her gaze still locked on Turalyon.

Kaiya's thin eyebrows, deceptively angular and tracing around the eyes, lifted in agreement. "Our lives are certainly interesting."

Jordan and Vosh waded through the sea of visitors like fish swimming upstream, finally breaking free to emerge in front of Kaiya and Dakota. People viewing the pair from a distance could easily mistake the two Valkyrie for a mother and her pink, pig-tailed daughter.

"Hiya boss!" Jordan shouted, garnering a few looks from passer-bys.

"Jordan. Vosh," replied Kaiya slightly bowing. Dakota acknowledged with a wreathing smile. Side by side, Dakota and Jordan could pass as sisters, although unlike Jordan's long, cattish face, the paladin's is oval with less pronounced cheekbones.

"Where's Breezy?" asked Vosh with tiny hands clasped behind her back.

"Nitebreeze is in Eastern Plague; apparently a floating citadel appeared shortly after the Lich King awakened and the Alliance needed some hunters to scout and track the area, so I don't know when she will be back," answered Kaiya.

"No Breezy? Damn." Jordan responded, clearly disappointed.

"The Arch Bishop suggested I find a hunter at Goldshire's Inn. He believes she will be an adequate substitute."

"And you're okay with that idea?" inquired Jordan, raising an eyebrow; confident of Kaiya's uneasiness.

"Well, yes," Kaiya lied. She was uncomfortable injecting a stranger into the team and wanted desperately to ignore inviting the hunter, but the shaman could not, or more accurately, would not disobey His Holiness' suggestion. Walking down the dusty path leading to the Goldshire Inn, Kaiya relayed the full mission details to the rest of the Valkyrie.

"Apparently last night a small band of Blackrock orcs abducted Magistrate Solomon Gray from his Lakeshire home and took him to Stonewatch," informed Kaiya, shuttling her gaze between the others.

"Seems like a pretty straight forward mission. Go in, kill the bad guys, and rescue the magistrate," Vosh stated plainly, skipping alongside the others.

"Vosh, when do we _ever_ have a mission go as planned?" Jordan countered, twirling the ash-wood staff in her hand.

"Audacious move for the Blackrocks," cautioned Dakota, her caramel hair prancing lightly on plated shoulders as she walked. "Gath'Ilzogg has never provoked the Alliance with his actions. We need to be careful."

"And alert," added Kaiya, the long ponytail jetting a fountain of silver hair down her back.

"Like being aware of the five bandits failing to effectively hide in the brush over there," spoke Vosh, pointing to a thin veil of foliage, laughably attempting to obscure the red sashed bushwhackers.

The others stopped and turned their gaze to the bushes. The foolhardy bandits abandoned any plan to waylay the Valkyrie, conceding to the fact they were outmatched.

"So Kaiya, do you know anything about this hunter?" Vosh asked, her lavender eyes sparking with interest.

"Not much, only that she can handle herself in a fight."

"That's good news. If she is half the marksman Breezy is, we will be just fine," assured Jordan, shooting Kaiya a comforting smile.

Approaching the Goldshire Inn, there were a score of young soldiers dueling; although they did more talking than sparring. Many circled a fighter and mage as they prepared for battle. The fighter charged, but the wizard side stepped.

"You're so slow, we can clock you with a sundial," the mage antagonized, his hands beginning to crackle with power. The ice bolt sputtered and fizzled as a raindrop sized piece of ice struck the warrior in the chest.

"My children spit harder than that, _Arch Mage,"_ laughed the warrior, the last two words oozing with sarcasm. The two combatants hurled a few more insults and boasts, until the spectators broke up to watch two toads race toward the pond behind the inn.

"Their blades and magic are as bad as their verbal insults," said Jordan bluntly.

"Pappy always said, if you can't walk the walk, you shouldn't talk the talk," added Vosh.

"What the hell does 'pwnage' even mean?"

"No clue, Kota. We are obviously out of touch with the current lingo," answered Kaiya, as a young human rogue strutted up. He ran a hand through thick, long blond hair; his bright blue eyes piercing through the veil of arrogance hanging over him like smog around a gnomish ironworks.

"Ladies, ladies! Have you come down from your perch in the Ivory Halls to witness the spectacular, the magnificent; Darum and his Dancing Blade work their skill on these pathetic fools?" bragged the thief.

Vosh raised an eyebrow. Darum's uncallous hands betrayed his boast and she quickly dismissed the claim.

"Maybe another time," the gnome chirped.

"What about you pretty lady?" he asked, moving to intercept Jordan. "Can Darum the Dashing beguile you with his swordsmanship and after, to slake your sexually aroused thirst, allow Darum to partake in the goodies you keep hidden under that silk robe?"

The Valkyrie stood fast. "Doh," muttered Vosh, placing a hand over her face.

Jordan peeked at Kaiya and Dakota, both were subtly shaking their heads, imploring the wizard to ignore the boy. The wizard's cattish features morphed into a devilish grin.

"Well, maybe we can go inside and you buy me a drink first…and then who knows," Jordan softly spoke as she slid her staff slowly up the man's leg. "Maybe you can show me your _sword play_ upstairs." The runes on the staff began to faintly glow a light blue as she progressed further up the man's leg, until the tip was touching his crotch. The wizard winked at Darum and the man's expression totally changed from cocky to shock.

"What the…!" Darum jumped backed and pulled open his leather pants and stared in disbelief. "What the hell, lady! You encased Darum's Love Gun in ice…AND IT"S TURNING BLUE.!"

"Jordan," said Dakota, unsuccessfully hiding a smile. Kaiya's hand covered her mouth muting the laughter, while Vosh's hand, still planted on her face, cracked open her fingers, revealing a purple eye laughing hysterically.

"You damn fingerwaggler! You've ruined Darum! Do you know how many women you have disappointed? They will never experience the sweet touch of Darum the Dashing!" he screamed, both hands cupping his frozen crotch.

"Oh don't be so melodramatic. Your prize possessions will thaw out…eventually… and you can continue using that wonderful charm of yours," Jordan responded as Darum left jumping and screaming down the road with his friends laughing in tow. "And stop referring to yourself in the third person!"

Jordan glanced at the other Valkyrie and shrugged her shoulders. "What?"

When the group entered they were quickly met by the assistant innkeeper Melika Isenstrider. The aroma of cooked meat and freshly baked bread filled the air of the quaintly lit bar room, unlike many other inns where the polluted stench of ale and pipe smoke dominated. The Goldshire Inn was bursting at the seams with patrons of various races, many of which were escaping the sophomoric youths always dueling outside the entrance. Upstairs, women of evening could be heard plying their talents to those willing to part with a few gold coins.

"Hiya girls," Melika greeted them, her short blond hair framing a porcelain face. "What can I get for you?"

"Nothing today Mel," replied Kaiya. "We are looking for a hunter named Lock, is she here?

"Well…yes, but…" Mel hesitated.

"But what?" inquired Dakota.

"Well, Lock isn't a _she_ and _he_ is over by the fireplace," answered Mel, a smirk plastered on her face.

The four Valkyrie looked at one another and then over by the fireplace. Sitting at a table polishing the barrel of a huge gun was a scruffy looking black haired dwarf. He was sharing a pint or two with a lean human male clad in attire similar to a Darkmoon Faire jester. Kaiya hesitated before approaching the dwarf, the others followed.

Grimlock was lost in his seventh, maybe eighth, pint of ale; he's a dwarf and doesn't count. He figures when the bag of silver coins he gave barkeep Dobbins runs dry, so will the mug. Two empty plates nested before Grimlock and the 'jester', probably once plentiful with The Goldshire Special – a dish of spiced boar ribs, sweet potatoes, and honey bread. The dwarf stopped polishing when Kaiya approached.

"Hey Dobbins! Where ya been hidin' these lasses? It's about time you get some quality talent in here," bellowed Grimlock. "Although, have you ever seen a female gnome dance? It's quite a sight," the dwarf said eyeing Vosh.

"Hey! I'm a great dancer," Vosh squeaked.

"You are the hunter, Lock?" asked Kaiya.

"Depends on who's askin'?" the dwarf replied through beady brown eyes with a distinctive vertical scar etched over the right one; a wide, downturned nose centered a battle seasoned visage.

"I am Kaiya'Tam, leader of the Valkyrie. This is Dakota Raintree, Vosh, and Jordan Blackwell. Arch Bishop Benedictus suggested we speak with you about a mission in Redridge." The dwarf juggled a hardened gaze among the Valkyrie. Appearing to be content with what he saw, he continued polishing the rifle.

"Well how is ole Benny these days? Has the old coot ever told you the story when he and I stormed the horde keep in the Swamp of Sorrows? I tell ya lass, we killed a lot of horde that day; but lost some good friends too," Grimlock said, taking a swill of ale in honor of fallen comrades.

"Benny?" whispered Dakota. Kaiya shrugged.

"By King Magni's bronze beard, where are my manners. This here is Strings," said Grimlock pointing nonchalantly at the 'jester'. "What did you say your profession is again, friend?"

Strings stood up, nearly six feet in height with short brown hair and a smile stretching from ear to ear. The human bowed deeply before Kaiya and the others, his livery a vast array bright colors.

"He looks like a walking rainbow," whispered Vosh to Jordan

"This coming from the gnome with pink hair," countered the mage. Vosh, eyebrows furrowed, stuck out her tongue.

"I am a bard. A musician," he added noticing the confusion on the Valkyrie's face.

"The silly kid thinks one day his kind will join us in battle. Not sure how much damage a lyre or flute can do in battle," Grimlock remarked sarcastically.

"Mock me my dwarvish friend, but someday Azeroth will bathe in the sweet melodic tunes of bards both in celebration and battle," Strings exclaimed with a smile. "And don't dwarves use horns on the field of battle?"

"Aye, for troop communication; not to make the enemy dance like a bunch of drunken gnomes."

"Hey!" Vosh retorted, scrunching her nose at the dwarf.

"Scribes tell me the quill is mightier than the sword, now I have a guy in a silk blouse tellin' me music will be the same." Grimlock said wiping froth from his beard. "So what does Stormwind's finest want with an old battle axe like me?"

Grimlock finished off the mug and gestured for another.

"Magistrate Solomon was abducted last night by the Blackrock Clan and probably taken to Stonewatch Keep. We need your help to rescue him."

"Blackrock, you say?" Grimlock said, stroking his graying beard. "I didn't think Gath'Ilzogg had the stones for it."

"That's what has the Arch Bishop worried. Gath'Ilzogg would not make such a bold move unless he had an ally, or allies," Kaiya informed. "We need to rescue the magistrate and uncover what is really going on."

"A rescue mission, eh. Sounds like it could get messy," Grimlock offered swilling down more of the inn's fine spirits.

"What's wrong Grimmy? Is the ole gun shooting blanks these days?" said Jordan leaning on her staff.

Grimlock eyed Jordan favorably. "I like you lass; you must have some dwarf in you."

"As a matter of fact, just last week I had…" the mage was cut short by Kaiya's disapproving stare.

"Well, my pops says," Grimlock began. Vosh perked her head up at the words, like a wolf hearing distant thunder. "If you want something tracked; send a Long Ear. If you want something hunted down and killed; send a dwarf," the hunter finished as he spit on a bullet the size of Vosh's hand and loaded it into the massive gun.

"Excellent," chimed Kaiya, satisfied with the dwarf. "We should leave immediately."

"Now, now don't be twistin' your undergarments in a knot, let me finish this mug and we can be on our way."

Grimlock holstered the gun on his back, finished the mug, and delivered a small wave to Strings.

"I'll be back later Strings; maybe you can sing a song or two while we're gone, perhaps the magistrate will magically appear with the Blackrocks dancing behind him." The dwarf's laugh was more of a roar. Strings just sat there with his ever present smile and began to play the lyre. He sang about an old dwarf who owned a bar, but didn't enjoy drinking.

Kaiya and her group exited the inn and quickly summoned their armored steeds. Kaiya believed they would make haste more efficiently by traveling in this fashion rather than taking the griffons to Lakeshire. The scenic route was not an option and Azeroth's flight path masters are well celebrated for not taking the direct route to a destination.

"When are you going to get a real mount, Vosh?" Jordan asked as the gnome placed a small, metallic box on the ground. She pressed a button on the top and a mechanical ostrich sprung to life, its gears a cacophony of whirs and clangs, the smoke choking the others.

"Pappy always says, if he isn't broke, don't fix it." Vosh mounted the metal bird and fled down the path.

It was a small distance to travel from Goldshire and the party slowed their gallop down to a trot as they approached The Three Corners. The group noticed several fleshrippers circling above the area, not a good indicator anywhere. Grimlock scanned the area and grimaced.

"There should be a guard patrollin' this area, but I don't see him," the dwarf observed, his eyes squinting in the morning sun.

"If you don't mind me asking, Grimmy, what, huh, happened?" Jordan questioned gesturing to the scar over Grimlock's right eye. A smile crept over the dwarf's face. Jordan smirked and asked another question.

"A woman?"

"Aye, and what a woman," the dwarf's face was dripping with elation, as if he were lying with a familiar lover.

"Oh ya?" Jordan asked inquisitively.

"Aye, but one day I mishandled her, downright disrespected the little lady, and, well, she did this," said Grimlock pointing a thumb at the scar.

Kaiya, Dakota, and Jordan exchanged concerned glances.

"She was my first boom stick, Widowmaker," the dwarf quickly added, noticing the hint of hesitation among his female companions. "Bah, but things never seem to workout with your first love. Am I right?" Grimlock's facial expression seemingly content with the situation, but truth be told, sometimes it's difficult to completely let go of a first love. "Now this here is Gypsy Queen. You won't be findin' a lovelier woman in all of Khaz Modan, perhaps all of Azeroth," Grimlock said placing a mailed hand on the gun's stock.

"Boys and their toys," quipped Jordan, flashing the hunter a mischievous smile.

"Over here!" yelled Vosh.

Kaiya and the others trotted up to Vosh's position. Lying face down was the corpse of a Stormwind guard, his sword and shield leaning against the huge stump of a tree cut down long ago. Dakota dismounted and examined the body, her loose, long brown hair falling off her shoulder in the process.

"Two stab wounds to the back," she informed. "Obviously he was taken by surprise."

"It was a professional kill," interjected Grimlock. "Each wound intricately targeted to paralyze and the perpetrator wasn't worried about being caught either, took the time to wipe the blood off the weapons. Poor lad."

Kaiya frowned.

"From the body's appearance, the guard has been dead about half an hour," observed Dakota, bestowing a silent prayer for a fellow paladin, her face solemn yet still filled with The Light. She was spiritual, no doubt, but not zealous nor pious; a redeeming quality the other Valkyrie admired. Many Soldiers of Light freely toss their self-righteousness around like a carefree painter flinging paint on a canvas; Dakota isn't one of them.

"Vosh, ride into Lakeshire and have a guard detail come retrieve the body," ordered Kaiya, her chainmail sparkling like diamonds in sunlight.

In a blink, the gnome sped off leaving behind an echoing wake of whirs and clanks.

"I don't like this," Kaiya said peering at the guard's corpse. "If someone could get this close to a guard, he or she could have easily skirted by unnoticed. Whoever did this, killed for the pure enjoyment."

"I'm gonna ride up ahead, lass. There are fresh tracks here," said Grimlock, the grayish-blue ram squeezed out a guttural baa as the dwarf spurred the animal into action.

Kaiya nodded in agreement not taking her eyes off the corpse.

"Perhaps the Arch Bishop's concerns have merit," said Dakota. "The Blackrock are indeed up to something."

"Orcs kidnapping an Alliance official…and now assassins. This will not be an enjoyable outcome, Kota; because the person who did this, I'm afraid, isn't going to just hand over the magistrate nicely."


	4. Where The Foul Wind Blows

The petulant haze transformed Azeroth's bright buttery sun into a sickly yellow. Shae Nitebreeze cringed as the jaundice rays turned her lavender skin into a neutral shade of gray. For the past two weeks the night elf, along with twenty of the Alliance's best trackers, traipsed through the desolation of the Eastern Plaguelands. This territory was bleak even before the freed death knights commandeered the floating scourge citadel and renamed it Ebon Hold. Now the land was more tainted; it was dying, and nobody felt the Earth's pain more than the kaldorei. The night elves may be Children of the Stars, but no other race, other than perhaps the Tauren, are so attuned with nature.

Shae stretched a mid-sized frame toward the putrid sky as a decaying wind unfurled her hair into hundreds of long, sapphire whips. She wore elven chainmail armor, light and strong, and magically enhanced to camouflage with the surroundings. The tunic was shorter than normal halting a couple inches below her breasts with a hood cleverly woven into the chain links. Shae opted for a chainmail skirt instead of full leggings. A common misconception is night elves dress too _sexy_ or _revealing_ , but they dress according to their station, not out of vanity. She is a hunter and relies on speed and stealth. A short sword and dagger dangled around her waist and a dark green bow with silver runes was slung over a shoulder.

A renegade strand swept across amber eyes as Shae surveyed the terrain. She wiped away the tress revealing a lightning bolt tattoo bisecting her left eye, from hairline to below a subtle cheekbone. Trees sprinkled over the frail land, their trunks -twisted and rotting - as if skewered into the earth by an omnipotent, diseased hand. The entire land was painted in shades of browns and reds save the rare eerie green in Plaguewood. The hunter gazed at the ruins of Darrowshire, once a quaint little hamlet full of life and joy; now reduced to decomposing piles of wood. All, save the two-story building, were emaciated images of their former robust selves and in time the larger building would be sharing the same fate. The graveyard in the north comfortably hunkered down like an old man relaxing in his generational home, reclined in his favorite chair, feet kicked up on a desk.

Shae's patrol focused mainly on the southwest part of Eastern Plague and other than a handful of scourge, the hunter has not encountered anything out of the ordinary. The hunter licked dry, full lips as she screwed the cap off a water skin hanging at her waist. Shae drew a long drink and the once frigid water was now warm, but quenching. She longed for the plush Darnassian forests, to run barefoot through the tall, emerald grass with Kaiya, or relax in the wooden embrace of her favorite tree. Even chasing that little runt, Vosh, through Elwynn Forest seemed appealing or swimming in the Ashenvale lakes with Jordan and Dakota. What she missed most was her friends; her sisters-in-arms.

"HELP! HELP ME, PLEASE!"

Shae instinctively went into a crouch and grabbed her bow in one fluid motion. The screams originated from the two-story building. The night elf's amber eyes scanned the exterior of the building, but detected nothing. Hurried footfalls could be heard within the building. The cracking of an aging floorboard was the prelude to a human girl exploding through the doorway, franticly running from someone or something. She stumbled outside the door, scrambling to regain her footing. A scourge warrior with three plaguehounds on leashes followed the frightened child through the doorway; it's pace calm and confident, knowing full well the fate of its prey. The hounds were released an encircled the weeping woman, feeling hopeless, she no longer attempted to flee. A second scourge exited the building. This scourge was clad in black robes and holding a vial with a fluorescent green liquid. Shae, transfixed on the unfolding events, barely felt the soft, furry nudge on the hand. The night elf peeked down to see the pleading eyes of Sasha. Shae rescued the big, ebony cat from furbolgs in Starbreeze Village when she was a fledgling hunter and Sasha was a little cub, and the two have been inseparable ever since.

"Don't worry girl, we'll help." Sasha released a low growl.

Shae dispatched Sasha to left so the natural predator could use the dying trees and bushes for cover to move closer. Shae pulled the cowl over her head so her entire body was camouflaged with the reddish, brown terrain, and slowly moved into firing position on the right.

"Be still child, it will all be over soon," the black hooded scourge spoke, its voice as empty as its eyes. The scourge grabbed the child's throat, forcing her to open her mouth. Shae struck quickly. Her first volley was three perfectly placed shots and the plaguehounds dropped to the ground with arrows protruding from their skulls. The scourge warrior unsheathed a crude two handed sword, panning the surroundings for any clues to the whereabouts of the archer when an arrow struck it in the throat. The scourge dropped to its knees and was met by two more arrows to the chest. Kneeling on the ground, the remaining scourge hid behind the crying child, still holding the vial.

"Show yourself or I kill the child!" it shouted in a deep voice. The scourge was mildly startled when Shae shimmered into view several paces away and pulled back the cowl revealing long slender ears tucked close to her head. "Foolish elf," it hissed. "Throw down your weapons," it threatened, tightening the grip on the child's throat.

"No," Shae replied, her eyes burning with hatred.

"As you wish." The scourge started to pour the liquid into the child's mouth when a flash of pitch black struck from behind. The force of Sasha's blow sent the vial soaring where it shattered harmlessly to the ground. The scourge rolled to its feet, but Shae, moving with elvish speed, decapitated the alchemist with a swift blow. Shae performed a quick scan of the area and when she was satisfied all was clear, the hunter moved toward the child.

The girl, no more than nine years old, was sitting down with her head lying on knees pulled tightly to her chest. "Are you okay?" She slowly raised her head to see Shae approaching. The bright aura of the kaldorei was soothing and peaceful. She blinked the tears away.

"Behind you."

But it was too late, the hook tore into Shae's shoulder and the elf was reeled into the grotesque, dangling third arm of the patchwork horror like a fish. The huge, blubbering giant formed a crooked smile, its breath vile and hot. The third arm was muscular and functioned like the other two, but this appendage sprang from the beast's upper back. The arm held Shae in front of its face while the other two hands rubbed crude axes together, sparking the metal to life.

"New play toy," it barked in a graveled voice.

Shae's wound burned like a hot coal, but the elf has been wounded in battle before and her wits were sharp. She struggled, but the giant's strength was overpowering. Sasha clawed at a leg and the lumbering oaf booted the black cat and she fell motionless next to the human girl. The patchwork horror chuckled with glee and returned its attention to the elf. It bared what yellow stained teeth remained and raised one axe to deliver the final blow.

ZZZIIIIIIIPPPPP!

The beast roared in pain as an arrow struck the elbow joint of the third arm; the precise shot forced the hand to unclench and Shae would have fallen to the ground on her back, but with catlike agility landed on both feet. The hunter ran out of the giant's reach, rolled, picked up her bow and fired an arrow in one graceful motion. The arrow found purchase in its chest, but the thick layer of fat kept the shot from being lethal. Shae circled the behemoth firing shot after shot, each finding its mark and the beast began to slow. A mighty white wolf joined the fray sinking long teeth into an exposed ankle as a hooded figure stood atop a knoll firing arrow after arrow, they too, finding their target. One arrow dug deep into the base of the patchwork horror's neck and it snapped a deformed head backwards. Shae released an arrow into the exposed throat and another plunged into an eye. The giant swayed, its legs shaking and unsteady, finally collapsed with a violent thud; dead.

Shae sprinted to Sasha, the cat's body was limp and breathing labored; she softly stroked the blackish gray fur and Sasha purred at the touch. The elf spoke a word known only to hunters and a sky blue light bathed Sasha in potent healing magic. Content with the big cat's improving health, Shae turned her attention to the girl who was no longer crying, but sitting in awe. The girl's blue, wide eyed stare filled Shae with unease.

"Are you an angel?" the girl asked. Before Shae could formulate a reply, a strong voice interjected.

"She is kaldorei. A night elf," offered the hooded archer seeing the confusion on the girl's face.

"You're an elf?" the girl gawked, placing a tiny hand on Shae's cheek. Shae smiled at the girl as she held her hand.

"And you are?" the elf inquired.

The figure drew back the emerald hood, unveiling a human male, his green eyes sharp as a hawk. "My name is Sinjin Blackthorn," he answered with a subtle bow. "And this is Frost, my friend and comrade in arms." The white wolf snuck up to the girl and licked her face. "We've been tracking the patchwork horror ever since it left Stratholme. Curious, it made no detours; it heading straight to this position, post haste."

"Shae Nitebreeze," introduced the elf. She turned again to the small child. "What are you doing here?"

"Me and my sis…Oh no, my sister!" she exclaimed, regaining her feet and sprinting into the building. Shae and Sinjin pursued.

"Wait! Let us go in first," Shae yelled. Her elven speed easily outpaced the little girl's and Sinjin was no slouch either, his gait was long and smooth. The two hunters, along with Sasha and Frost, entered the aged edifice first.

"She's upstairs," declared the frantic girl. Everyone scampered up the rotting staircase and the scene horrified Shae. If it had any effect on Sinjin, he didn't show it. The girl, a couple years younger than her sibling, was lying on the floor next to a mostly empty vial. Her human body was shifting into something else. Young skin was now wrinkled and flaking, the eyes sunken and pure white. "They poured some green stuff in her mouth. What's happening to her?" Tears filled the girl's eyes. Sinjin knelt beside the girl; her breathing and pulse were faint. The concerned look was evidence enough for Shae.

"We need to get her to Light's Hope Chapel, now!" announced Shae as she picked up the vial and corked what remained of the ghastly, green fluid and placed it in a pouch.

Sinjin agreed and scooped up the girl and darted outside. The hunter summoned his mount, a muscular ebony horse and draped the girl over its back. Shae and the other girl mounted the night elf's war tiger and fled the scene with amazing speed.

The two hunters blazed a trail east, out maneuvering the patches of undead scourge when they could, out running them when they had no other route. The decaying land tore through Shae like hundreds of tiny daggers. The land and trees cried in agony as they died a slow, painful death and each breath of the fetid air ripped like glass in her lungs. If there was an elven Hell on Azeroth, Shae began to believe it is the Plaguelands. She spurred the war tiger even faster and the surroundings blurred. It didn't take long to reach Light's Hope Chapel and the infected girl was being treated when Shae arrived. Shae helped the girl off the war tiger and approached Sinjin. An argent dawn medic performed a quick examination.

"Get her inside this instant," the medic shouted to a couple of guards. Gathering the girl quickly, they entered the command building.

Sinjin gently snared Shae by the shoulder. "You need to dress this wound." At Sinjin's behest, a medic sauntered over and began attending to Shae's shoulder. "Let the Argent Crusade handle this," he said. She reluctantly agreed and took the girl's sister to get something to eat after the medic completed her task.

A half hour passed before Shae returned alone and discovered Sinjin perched on a cement wall overlooking the Chapel's courtyard. "Well, Missy, certainly found her appetite," Shae offered, looking at the statuesque form of the human hunter. Sinjin said nothing only met the elf's amber stare with his own. "Missy and her sister were kidnapped from the Hinterlands a couple days past by a band of marauding scourge and taken to Eastern Plaguelands. She doesn't recall much more other than the alchemist in Darrowshire slaved endlessly over a chemistry table the entire time," she continued.

"Probably a scourge witchdoctor, concocting some god forsaken potion," Sinjin replied, returning his attention to the courtyard.

"When I return to Stormwind, I will have the alchemists analyze the green liquid." Shae paused a moment before speaking again. "Are you one of the trackers aiding the Alliance?" Shae queried.

"Aye. The Arch Bishop uprooted me from my team, _The Broken Arrows_ , in Northrend."

"The Broken Arrows?" Shae's eyes narrowed. "I've heard the name, a band of cutthroats and…" Shae stopped as Sinjin swiveled his head to make eye contact.

"…and?"

"Assassins," the elf finished. Sinjin's snort was more of a laugh.

"Yes, I've heard that label before."

"Is it true?" Shae fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Let's just say, we are summoned when the hard choice has been made," he replied removing an apple from a knapsack, cut a wedge out and shuttled it into his mouth with a deft hand. He offered a slice to Shae who politely declined.

"The hard choice?"

"You're a kaldorei, an immortal for the most part. You've been around long enough to know few things in life are black and white and even us, the Alliance; the good guys; have to make difficult decisions. We live in a world mired in shades of gray." Sinjin flipped another apple wedge in his mouth. "Someone needs to be the hidden dagger that strikes in the night."

Shae sat down next to Sinjin and pulled her knees into her chest. Oddly, the elf was comfortable with the human, although _the hard choice,_ to her, was an excuse for human vengeance and resentment. Bitterness and pettiness is unknown to the kaldorei; regret, unfortunately, is the curse of immortals. However, he is correct, the night elves have been around since the world was young and Shae has experienced many situations and the best choice, she learned, is the one you can live with.

"Are you the two hunters who brought the girl?" a voice boomed. Shae and Sinjin turned to see the hulking form of Lord Maxwell Tyrosus, the Argent Crusade leader of Light's Hope.

"Yes, how is she?" Shae asked, springing to her feet.

"Her condition is rapidly deteriorating and is well beyond my healing magic. Whatever evilness was in the vial, it is transforming the girl into an undead. Even if we had a mage here to create a portal to Darnassus or Stormwind, she wouldn't survive the trip. Leonid Barthalomew has confirmed it and being the resident undead here, I accept the evaluation. Even the shaman, Riblat Earthshatter, cannot save her. I'm sorry," Lord Maxwell answered, his face wrecked with agony. "Our magic did enough so the little girl can speak. She is asking for her sister." The three warriors exchanged defeated glances far too common in war and it never gets easier where innocence is lost.

"I will get the sister," Shae said, the words fumbling from her mouth.

"I'll come with you," Sinjin offered.

Missy was enjoying a piece of chocolate cake under the cooking tent when the two hunters arrived. A few other children joined her in food and laughter and the scene was a ray of sunshine. It almost freed Shae from the somber reverie…almost; in reality it reflected the impending doom of a majestic goldthorn flower dazzling in a dead, decaying swamp. Missy's face lit up when she seen the elf.

"Shae!" Missy shot out of the chair and hugged the kaldorei tightly around the waist. "Is my sister going to be okay?" Words lodged in Shae's throat and she was losing the battle to preserve her composure.

"Your sister is really sick," Sinjin interrupted; his voice soft yet steady.

"Is Maisie going to die?" she asked. Sinjin gently rubbed the top of Missy's head.

"She's asking for you."

The three made their way to the command building, each step Shae took the earth groaned, pleading the elf to end the suffering, but it paled in comparison to the situation at hand. She never had to witness elf kind die a slow death; disease and old age held no sway over the kaldorei. Humans, on the other hand, are susceptible to most things; famine; plague, poison; old age; the list is long and distinguished, but they are a resilient race and most have moved beyond the mortal trappings to become an accomplished people, some even legendary. Lord Maxwell cleared the entire building so only Missy, her sister, Shae, and Sinjin remained.

"Maisie," Missy murmured as she grabbed her sister's hand, impervious to the decomposing flesh.

"Missy, you came." Though the girl's eyes were pure white, she could still cry. "I don't feel very good." The words were choked by tears. "Do you think mom and dad will be mad at me?"

"I'll tell them it was my fault you were with me, it was my idea to sneak out of the house that night; not yours," Missy sniffled.

"You…you would do that for me?"

"That's what big sisters do," replied Missy, the tears falling freely. The two sisters shared an uncomfortable moment of silence.

"I don't want to become a monster, Missy."

"I know. I know." Missy kissed her sister's forehead and turned to Shae. "Will you help my sister?"

"I…can't. My healing skills only work on animals like Sasha."

"I know, but you can still help," Missy replied, grabbing Shae's hand and placing it on the elf's dagger. Shae snapped her hand back as if she touched a flame, startling Missy in the process. "Please, please, help her," Missy said, her big, blue eyes pleading Shae to end her sister's suffering; it was if the land had taken human form.

Shae backed into the doorway, stopped and turned to look out into the courtyard. She rubbed trembling hands together hoping to conceal it from the others. She was just gut punched by a nine year child and her mind was a tumultuous storm of thoughts, desperately seeking calm waters. "C'mon Breezy, pull it together." It was a futile attempt and Shae was uncertain how to explain to Missy she couldn't do what was asked. The night elf drew a deep breath. A strong hand covered a shoulder and Sinjin slowly spun the elf around to meet his gaze. His emerald eyes were calm pools of reassurance and she felt a sigh of relief.

"I'll do it," he offered. Shae began to speak, but was cut short when Sinjin placed a hand on her cheek. "This is what I do." The elf's nod was more of a quiver and she moved toward Missy. Grabbing the little girl's hand, they headed towards the doorway. Missy held onto Maisie's hand as long as she could.

"Bye Maisie," Missy wept as she wiped away a tear.

"Goodbye, sissy," Maisie said, blinking out more tears as Sinjin approached her. Maisie's pupil-less eyes stared at the hunter. "Are you going to help me mister?"

"Aye lass…aye," he responded placing a hand on her forehead.

Outside Shae and Missy met Lord Maxwell. Shae delicately shook her head at the paladin; he dropped his head to stare at the ground momentarily before dropping to one knee to look Missy in the eye. "We will make sure you and your sister get home safely to your parents in the Hinterlands," he said. Missy hugged Shae's leg, never wanting to let go. "You can return to Stormwind, Shae. I think we have uncovered all that we could. The Argent Dawn will keep a vigilant eye on the floating necropolis."

 _Home…sounds real good right now._ She thought to herself. Sinjin emerged from the building and for the first time she allowed herself to really look at the hunter. He was ruggedly handsome with shoulder length black hair and stubble on a strong jaw line. The piercing green eyes glowed with an emerald fire which had witnessed far too much sorrow in such a short time; and he had an aura around him, uncommon among humans, it was hard; cold; vicious, but not stained with cruelty. He moved with an animal grace similar to elf kind and though Shae wouldn't openly admit it, she was a little taken with the human.

"Leaving?" he asked as if nothing happened, mesmerized by the night elf's bright, silver aura.

"Yes," she softly spoke. "The land here is desecrated and diseased; I ache with every step and breath I take."

"Aye, there is a foul wind blowing over this accursed land," he agreed. "Well safe travels, milady." Sinjin bowed.

Shae paused from loading her belongings onto the hippogriff, turned and faced the human. "I…I just want to thank you…for." Sinjin raised a mailed hand.

"It's alright. The burden was not yours to carry."

Shae turned away. "I'm sorry it fell upon you." She flung a leg over the bird and nestled on its back. "I…" Shae hesitated, not believing the next words to fall from her lips. "I hope our paths will cross again."

Sinjin afforded a small smile. "We are hunters, protectors of Azeroth, warriors of the land; for us the world is our home; I'm sure we will meet again."

"Farewell, hunter," Shae said.

"Farewell."

The multi-colored bird launched into flight and Shae laid her head on the soft plumage. Her thoughts were of the forest, of family and friends, of a roguish human with piercing green eyes, but mostly they dwelled on two little human girls, and something that hasn't happened in a very long time occurred; the night elf cried.


End file.
